Q: How many times does a person have to lock and unlock the front door of the house before an old lady with dementia actually believes that the door is, in fact, LOCKED??
A: Infinity. Because it doesn’t matter whether or not a person PROVES that the door is locked when an old lady with dementia is certain that a mob is planning to break in and rob the place and kidnap the cat.
We were sitting at the table eating breakfast, when I felt Joe’s eyes on me. I looked over at him and he was just grinning ear to ear.
Me: “You look like you’re in a pretty good mood today, Joe!”
Joe: “Yep, I guess so.”
Me: “I bet it’s because you’re wearing your red shirt. You look really handsome in red.”
Dot: “Red has always been a good color on him.”
Joe: “What’s so good about it?”
Me: “It brightens up your cheeks.”
Joe: “What good does that do me?”
Dot: “We’re the ones who have to look at you, and you look good in RED! Now, eat your breakfast.”
Joe: “Does it make me look taller?”
Dot: “Huh?”
Joe: “Does my red shirt make me look taller?”
Dot: “Oh for heaven’s sake…”
Me: “I think it makes you look taller, Joe.”
Joe’s eyes lit up: “Well if it makes me look taller, then maybe I’ll have a better chance of picking a cherry from the cherry tree!”
Dot: “We don’t have a cherry tree.”
Joe: “But if we DID have a cherry tree; when I wear this red shirt then I’ll be taller, and I can pick cherries.”
Me: “You’re right, Joe. You’d be tall enough to pick the cherries AND you’d look very handsome while doing so.”
Joe beamed: “See Dot, I told you so.”
Dot: “I think maybe you’d better not wear red anymore. It gives you a big head…”
Joe: “No Dot, see my head only looks bigger because my red shirt makes me look so much taller.”
Lois tried to “run away” in the middle of the night, using her bedside commode as a walker. She didn’t get very far, since she could not figure out how to unlock the door.
Me: “Where are you going, Lois?”
Lois: “I’m gettin’ the hell out of here is where I’m goin!”
Me: “You’re not going to get very far carrying your commode. It’s really heavy.”
Lois: “The WHAT?!”
Me: “You’re trying to use your toilet as a walker, and it’s too heavy for you to push around.”
Lois: “I just figured that I might need to use the toilet while I’m walking to Sylvia’s house.”(Sylvia is Lois’s long deceased sister.)
Me: “How about we visit Sylvia tomorrow when there’s daylight, and you can be sure to use the bathroom before we go?”
Lois: “Well, I’ll think about it.”
Then right there by the front door, Lois decided to use her commode. As she was sitting on the pot, she smiled at me and said, “Boy, these portable toilets sure are handy!”
Me: “Yep, they sure are.”
This has been one of the most difficult days with Lois that I’ve ever had. Some days are just like that with folks who are suffering with dementia, and it’s sad.
At one point this afternoon, I escaped to the caregiver’s bedroom to take a breather from having to answer the SAME questions OVER and OVER and OVER again. Of course she followed me into the bedroom, and just stood next to my bed glaring at me and scratching her butt with her hand down the back of her pants.
My patience was nearing an end when I said, “Lois. Will you please not scratch your butt right next to my head at least?!”
Lois looked at me bewildered and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Me: “Lois, look at where your hand is right now.”
Lois pulled her hand out of her pants: “It’s right here!”
Me: “Okay, now look at where my head is.”
Lois looked confused for a moment, and then put her hand right back down her pants: “I don’t see the connection.”
Welcome to my world.
Nothing like spending an hour putting together healthy Greek chicken pizza for our dinner (using the supplies that I paid for myself) just so that Lois can complain that it’s “okay, but I don’t know why you had to dump so much salt on it…”
I explained to her that the kalamata olives are what makes it salty, but that I used them sparingly, and the pizza is actually very healthy.
Lois: “You can explain that to the doctor after I’ve had my heart attack from all of this salt.”
Me: “I can make you something else…”
Lois: “No, no, I’ve lived long enough anyhow. Have you fed Baby?”
Me: “Yes, I put food out on the patio for her.”
Lois: “You didn’t put any of those thingamajigs in her food, did ya?”
Me: “No, of course not.”
Lois: “Are you sure? Because she’s too young for a heart attack.”
Me: “Yes, I’m sure. I just gave her soft food.”
Lois: “You didn’t pour a bunch of salt all over it, did you?”
Me: “Lois…why would I add salt to Baby’s cat food?”
Lois: “I was just making sure.”
Me: “There are no salty thingamajigs on Baby’s food.”
Lois: “Maybe I should trade her then.”
Ugh.
I love it when I am trying to help Joe in the bathroom, and I say, “Alright Joe, I’m going to help you pull your pants down now…”
Joe: “What the hell are you gonna pull my pants down for?”
Me: “Because you’ve kinda gotta pull your pants down before you sit on the toilet…”
Joe: “What are you…some kind of expert or something?!”
Me: “I guess so, yes.”
Joe: “Next thing you’re gonna tell me is that you’re going to help me take my penis out and point it in the right direction.”
Me: “Actually, you’re on your own with that one.”
Joe: “You’re not such an expert anymore are ya?”
Me: “Nope, that is most definitely NOT my area of expertise.”
It was extremely hot yesterday, so Dot suggested that I make something “cool” for supper. When I looked in the refrigerator, I noticed that there were three large pieces of steak that were leftover from the BBQ that Dot attended with her daughters the night before, so I decided to make steak salad for supper.
Once I got both Joe and Dot seated at the dinner table, I poured each of them a glass of wine, and then I set their plates in front of them. I had made fresh ranch dressing, so I poured a bit of it onto Joe’s salad, and he started digging in. I notice that Dot was just sort of staring at her plate with a bewildered expression for a moment, but soon enough she was chowing down as well.
After we had all cleaned our plates, and I had served Joe and Dot their brownies and ice cream for dessert, Dot asked me where I got the steak.
Me: “The steak was wrapped up in tin foil in the fridge. It was your leftovers from the BBQ last night.”
Dot: “Oh, I was wondering where it came from! Now I remember…Julie (Joe and Dot’s oldest daughter) didn’t eat all of her steak, so she sent it home with me so that I could feed it to the dog!”
Me: “Well I did feed the dog the scraps that were leftover.”
Dot: “Oh well, it doesn’t matter. Just don’t tell Julie…”
Me: “Don’t tell Julie that I fed you guys dog food for supper?”
Dot: “Yes, don’t tell her that.”
Joe: “We had WHAT for supper?!?!”
I’m taking care of Lois tonight, and as usual she spent a solid hour calling for her cat, Baby, before bed. This time Baby actually came into the house and circled around Lois’s legs, meowing and purring, and Lois talked to her and fed her and everything.
As I was tucking Lois into bed, I told her that I was so happy that she got to love on Baby for a while. Lois looked at me like I was crazy and said, “I never saw Baby tonight!”
Me: “You actually pet Baby and fed her and talked to her for about 15 minutes tonight, Lois.”
Lois: “Oh no, you’re mistaken. Baby got eaten up by wolves this morning.”
Me: “Well that’s too bad. Who were you loving on in the kitchen earlier then…?”
Lois: “Oh that was the neighborhood marsupial.”
Me: “Marsupial?”
Lois: “Yeah, you know, the skunk!”
Me: “I didn’t realize that there was an official neighborhood skunk…”
Lois laughed: “You probably just mistook him for a cat. Don’t feel bad; it happens to everybody.”
I watched “Sister Act” with Joe and Dot this afternoon, or I guess I should say that I watched it while both Joe and Dot enjoyed their daily head-bobbing naps in their chairs.
During one of the infamous choir scenes, Joe woke up, his eyes got big and he said, “My god, that’s A HELLUVA LOT of Nuns!”
Me: “Yep, it’s a-whole-lotta-nuns all right.”
Later in the movie, Joe woke up during a scene where Whoopi Goldberg was out of her nun costume and wearing an enormous, 80’s, afro-wig.
Joe said, “Do you think that lady knows that a giant yak up and died on her head?”
Me: “If not, I’m sure she’ll figure it out soon enough.”
Joe: “Once it gets too heavy for her neck to hold it up she’ll put it back out to pasture.”
Me: “I’m sure you’re right about that, Joe.”
Joe: “What the hell happened to your toenails?”
Me: “They’re painted.”
Joe: “You mean to tell me that you did that to yourself, on purpose?!”
Me: “Actually, I paid someone to paint them for me.”
Joe: “Oh Hogwash! Next time you want to get your toes that color just go out to any old farm and let the horses stomp on your feet! That’d get the job done a whole lot cheaper.”
Me: “Thanks Joe, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Joe and Dot 